The Lord, The Witch and the Respiteblock
by Vurms
Summary: Caliborn's new-found powers lead him to a Dancestor's dream bubble. Much to his glee, their encounter quickly takes a perverted turn. (Caliborn/Damara one shot; Smut, explicit language, mild violence, blood.)


((I couldn't find good smutfic of this pairing, so I decided to write my own. Comments and criticisms welcome. Listen to Carnevale from Cherubim for dramatic effect))

You've been travelling for years. Or has it only been minutes? Damn, these new powers take some adjusting to, even for a Lord of Time such as yourself. Where, and when, did you end up this time? You glance around. You're in some darkly lit, square room, walls the same dark grey you used to color your words with. A computer, same style as your laptop on a desk in the corner, nearby some stupid-looking glass ornament with two pipes sticking out, emitting a tongue of smoke. Posters of some rubbish you've never heard of, written in some dumb language you've never seen. Off to one side, a dark-red lumpy-thing with green slime leaking over the edge. Is that supposed to be some sort of deformed Sarswapagus? You make a face, screwing one of your bony red cheeks up in contempt. How boring. It's not that different from the room you'd spent your entire life in, if a little cleaner.

"性交あなたは誰ですか?!"

You turn. Sitting in a corner with her back to the wall, dressed in dark red with a skirt, black hair in a bun and curled orange horns, is a girl. Despite her surprised exclamation, she does not get up, or move much at all, but she looks you up and down.  
"あなたは何ですか？あなたがトロールではありません," She adds, in her stupid dumb-sounding language. You guess this is another of those idiot Troll aliens your sister wouldn't shut up about. Ugh, just like that fucking clown. Her staring is starting to get on your nerves.  
You scoff, rolling your red eyes. "I CAN'T UNDERSTAND YOU. YOU FUCKING IDIOT," you snap angrily. She raises one eyebrow, and gives a scoff of dismissive laughter. That's new. Usually only Dirk and Jake would respond to your antics with anything other than tired annoyance.  
"That's mostly the point," she replies amusedly in a thick accent, moving to push herself up from her dark corner and stepping into the dim light. You notice her eyes. Stark white, no pupils. A ghost, then? Then you notice her figure. Thick, curved hips and thighs, ample tits. Wait a minute. Recognition creeps over you. Her hair and horns. The style of clothes. Could this be the young girl you'd seen with that douchebag earlier? The one with a white sphere for a head and the ugly green tuxedo. Scratch, or whatever. It seems like long ago, but in reality it might only have been a few seconds. Goddamn lousy Time bullshit. You're sure it was her, or someone who looked just like her, but she doesn't seem to recognize you at all.

The Troll girl folds her arms beneath her bust.  
"Who. The fuck. Are you?" she asks deliberately.  
"I'M THE GUY. YOUR DUMB CUE BALL MASTER ANSWERS TO," you answer, your memory steadily trickling back to you.  
The girl's expression goes deathly cold, and there's a dangerous glint in her pure white eyes. She moves forwards, swift and silent, and stops a couple of feet in front of you. She looms imposingly over you by a few inches, but you don't flinch, meeting her malicious glare with your own.  
"I'm done with that cocksucker," she hisses. "You can kiss my ass if you think I bow to you, or anyone, fucker." She punctuates her sentiment with a raised middle finger. You can't help but laugh; a short, harsh chuckle. Maybe this bitch isn't so bad after all. You grin, baring your sharp green teeth, single gold fang glinting. She reaches forwards, grabbing you by one suspender and pulling you in close, inches from her face. Her eyes narrow, but her red lips curl up in a delicious dimpled smirk. You look down indignantly to the hand tightly clenching your suspender strap, back up to her ghostly eyes. Amusing or not, the Troll bitch should learn her place. They will all bow to you in the end. They already have.

You thrust your clawed hand towards the girl, grasping a handful of her stomach and squeezing the soft flesh tauntingly through her shirt.  
"I CAN THINK OF SOMETHING MUCH MORE FUN. THAN KISSING YOUR FAT ASS." Your fanged smirk returns as she breaks eye-contact, casting her gaze down to your hand. You swear you see her smile broaden a little.  
"Oh? And what is it you are thinking?" she demands, softer than before, but no less bold. She shifts one of her thighs to brush against yours, and you bristle at the touch, suddenly very aware that you've never been so... intimately close to anyone in your life. Her tongue darts out to lick her scarlet lips, almost like a dare, trying to one-up your advance. You do like this bitch. Two can play at that game.  
With a sudden burst of movement, you shove her back against the wall, pinning your body against hers. You're stronger than you used to be, far stronger than you look. Her eyes widen a little, but she counters by jutting her shapely hips against your crotch. Your hand releases its clutch on her stomach and your clawed fingers curl around the curves of her waist instead, digging in sharply through her skirt.  
"I WANT TO PLAY A GAME," you sneer.  
"I think we already are," she replies in her thick, sultry accent.  
Your grin broadens, and your other hand feels its way up to roughly grope at one of her soft, fleshy tits. She bites a corner of her lower lip with white teeth almost as sharp as yours, a soft sigh escaping her, eyes half-lidding with arousal. One of her slender hands snakes its way towards your crotch. You release her waist, instead gripping her wrist and pulling it away to pin it against the wall beside her. No point in going down there. That's not how Cherub mating works. Besides, you'd rather assert your dominance and obvious superiority over this lowly Troll bitch. Her subjugation is what will please you.

She tries to break her wrist free of your grasp, but you hold firm, squeezing it tightly. Disapproving of the shift of power, she swiftly brings a knee up to collide with your midsection. You wince, a little winded by the blow, but with minimal effort, you swing her around to throw her to the ground.  
"DON'T FIGHT ME. OR I'LL BLOW YOUR FUCKING BRAINS OUT. GOT IT BITCH?" you threaten, trying to sound menacing. She laughs dismissively again. Infuriating.  
"Damara," she corrects, propping herself up on one elbow. "I am not scared, Demon. You can't kill the dead." A hand drapes down to her skirt, and she slides the hem up her thigh tantalizingly. "But you won't have to try." Your eyes dart down to the freshly revealed skin, pallid grey and begging to be touched. Now _that's_ more like it.  
You quickly drop down to straddle Damara's wide thighs, leering over her, your hands diving back down to fondle and squeeze her breasts. She gives another aroused sigh, eyes closing, arms content to rest yielding by her side for now. Good. She's not as hard to bend as you thought.

Your hands begin to explore, your left moving down to trace roughly over the curves of her waist and exposed thighs. Your right snakes upwards, across her neckline, up to her jaw, and you thrust two fingers between her exquisite red lips. You hook them under her tongue, which slides between them, slickening them with saliva. She opens her eyes, staring up at you with that familiar glint of danger, her teeth threatening to bite down. Your left hand quickly moves up to wrap around her delicate grey neck.  
"YOU BITE. I CHOKE," you warn. Her brow quirks adventurously. A challenge.  
She bites.  
You squeeze.  
Hard.  
You can almost feel a pulse, as if blood were coursing beneath your fingers. It must be your imagination. But color rushes to Damara's pretty face, a deep red flushing beneath the pallid grey. The sharp pain in your fingers distracts you from contemplating it too long. The bitch has drawn blood. With a stone-faced glare, you squeeze harder. Her 'pulse' quickens, and at last her jaw slackens, freeing your fingers. Withdrawing them, you extend your long, forked black tongue to taste the candy-red blood coating your knuckles. Likewise, her soft tongue darts out to victoriously lick your vitals from her smirking lips, a few shades darker than the blood.  
Time to repay the favor.

Your thumb releases its throttling grip on Damara's windpipe, and you cup the back of her neck, leaning down to crush your razor-sharp fangs into her throat. She cries out loudly as you break the skin, hot, coppery blood flowing into your mouth. A pang of arousal hits you. _Yes._ Her body arches against yours, eyelids heavy with lust, her hands moving up to clutch your shirt. You take both her wrists and hold them down above her head, digging your fangs in a little deeper. Her thick legs fidget and squirm beneath you, her body tensing and untensing, and it excites you. Your teeth release her bleeding throat, your slick black tongue darting out again, sliding across her skin and up to her jawline. Damara shudders, tossing back her head, and you croak an almost reptilian cackle at her reaction. You draw back a little to see her soft smirk still playing lightly on her luscious lips. The bitch must be enjoying this as much as you are. Looks like you need to step it up a little.

You release Damara's arms. They stay where they are, for now, while you turn your attention back to her body, still writhing deliciously beneath you. Idly, you notice the torn flesh of her neck has healed, no sign of her deep red blood except the remnants coating your tongue, almost as if you hadn't bitten her at all. Perhaps you can't kill her. At least not this way. But no matter. You have other things on your mind right now.  
You slip one hand underneath her shirt, snaking your way up to her breast and underneath her brassiere. You grope roughly and tease the fleshy nub of her nipple beneath the tip of one claw, eliciting another cry of pleasure. On her thigh, your other hand traces its way beneath her skirt, coming to press against the fabric of her underwear. It's already wet, and a little sticky. You fondle and tease her loins, pressing your fingers in against her. Something presses back. _Ugh_, Trolls. You aren't interested in whatever disgusting piece of anatomy she keeps underneath the moist fabric, but the expression of ecstasy on her face as you rub the palm of your hand against it is delectable. You snigger, hand on her breast tightening around the fleshy mound to draw another moan from her. _Perfect_. Like grey and red putty in your hands.

"地獄をクソ. 自分のタッチは素晴らしいです！ 私は、あなたが今私をファックしてほしい!" She purrs lasciviously in her incomprehensible tongue. You idly wonder if even other Trolls know what the fuck she's saying.  
"QUIET BITCH," you command, flicking your black tongue across her gently parted lips to silence her. It seems to work for now. Her hips gyrate erratically, grinding her concealed but squirming sex against your hand. Her breath is heavy and hot on your face, eyes shut tight, her soft cries of pleasure filling the room and growing steadily louder. Sharp fingernails dig into the floor at her sides. Groping and manipulating with a gurgle of sadistic laughter, you begin to draw her climax from her.  
"Yes! Keep going," she pleads breathlessly.  
For a moment, you're tempted to stop, just to torment her. But it would leave you just as dissatisfied. No, that won't do at all. Your tongue slithers out to glide up her neck again, and you roughly shove your lower hand against her, rubbing hard and fast.  
"FINISH IT," you order. "NOW."  
Almost on cue, Damara's body tenses, and a shuddering orgasm courses through her with a piercing cry of ecstasy. More sticky fluid, enough to soak her skirt, spills from her, coating your hand in the process. You don't mind. You've gotten what you wanted. This bitch will kneel before you now, like all the rest. Though merely another footnote in your ultimate conquest, you shudder with excitement at the thought.

Damara falls back to the floor, utterly spent, her body convulsing once or twice with the aftershock of her orgasm. You wipe most of the sticky fluid off on her thigh, too satisfied to be disgusted. It's the same red as her blood, you note, though thinner and translucent. Your fingers find their way back into her mouth as before, but rather than biting again, she obligingly sucks on them, removing the last of her own fluids. _Excellent_. You withdraw, getting to your feet and brushing yourself off, trying to compose yourself and straightening your awesome bow tie.  
Damara sits, looking glassy-eyed and dazed, but fulfilled. Her dimpled smirk returns, and she smooths her hair over with one hand.  
"I think maybe I misjudged you, Demon," she purrs, leaning forwards to rest elbows on knees.  
"NO FUCKING SHIT," you taunt, unable to suppress your cheshire grin. "I HOPE THAT NOW. YOU'VE LEARNED YOUR FUCKING PLACE. AND WE CAN CALL IT A DAY." You fold your arms, looking down on her expectantly.  
"I have," she chuckles darkly, nodding once. "And of where to seek my pleasure in future," she adds, offering a sultry wink.  
Time to get a move on. You have the rest of paradox space to conquer. So much to do, so little time. Heh, who are you kidding? You've got all the Time in the universe.  
You approach the spot in the middle of the room where you'd appeared earlier.  
"YOU'LL SEE ME AGAIN. YOU CAN COUNT ON IT."  
You turn back to face her, pausing for a last glimpse at her spectacular body; all yours, now. You flip her the double bird, exchanging a devilish smirk.  
"LATER BITCH."


End file.
